


A Few Eggs and a Few Minutes

by M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng



Series: Keeping Up With the Smiths AU [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: A souffle is made, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Awkward Flirting, Chin mentions, Eleven is slightly offended, F/M, Flirting, Gen, On Eleven's part anyway, Sass, but not really because Clara's cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-18 01:46:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11281164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng/pseuds/M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng
Summary: Lacking a few eggs and a few minutes for her soufflé, 15-year-old Clara Oswald gets some help from a stranger. John Smith spends a few minutes fetching eggs for a baker at the local fair. (It’s because he’s making up for accidentally knocking her over, not because she’s cute and sassy and he’s completely infatuated, shut up.)





	A Few Eggs and a Few Minutes

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who, its characters, settings, or events, or some of the dialogue in this story.
> 
> This story is loosely based off the episode "The Asylum of the Daleks." It is the second in an overall series, but the first for Clara; you do not need to read the others to read this one.

Fairs were usually fun.

John Smith and his family and friends went to the local fair every year and it had always been fun.

He was trying to have fun this year too, but when you were at the fair with your two best friends who’d just broken up—again, but maybe for real this time; Amy seemed determined and she usually got her way when she was determined—and they were oscillating between avoiding each other completely and fighting loudly and caustically (which was, admittedly, the only way Amy knew how to fight), “having fun” was a little difficult. Mostly, he was settling disputes and trying to think of how to fix their relationship without seeming like that was what he was doing; he wasn’t sure he was succeeding.

Currently, they were heading toward the large tent where the live baking competition would be held in a few minutes, which meant that, currently, Rory and Amy were arguing over which of them was the better baker (undecided), which was the better cook in general (Rory), how cooking duties would have been divided in any hypothetical future marriage between them (which they both claimed they were greatly relieved would never happen, despite the fact that they repeatedly brought the topic up), and which of them would have most likely been guilty of shirking said duties (they all knew it was Amy, but she insisted it didn’t matter). He had already interfered in too many fights too recently and had been forbidden from stepping in to this one, so he was trying to distract himself by watching the crowd as they wove their way to the tent. He’d just noticed a little girl in a white tutu, twirling away, when he suddenly collided with someone and sent them both tumbling to the ground.

He blinked and exclaimed in mild surprise, “Oh, I’ve knocked you over!”

To which she snorted sarcastically, “Thanks for noticing.”

And he did notice. She was short, and pretty, with brown curls tumbling loosely over her shoulders and framing her lovely round face and big brown eyes and an absolutely adorable little nose. And a scowl, which was—frankly—also adorable, but reminded him of the situation.

“Ah. I’m so sorry,” he apologized as he tried to scramble to his feet. He ended up tripping over the sprawling limbs and falling over again. 

She seemed to notice his struggles. “Bad combo,” she began dryly with a raised eyebrow. Rory offered to help her up as Amy did the same for him, and unlike him she rose smoothly to her feet, flicking her hair over her shoulder with the hand Rory hadn’t taken and finishing her comment at the same time, “No sense of balance and that chin.”

Said chin came up in offense and he frowned deeply, but the movement, just as he was gaining his own feet unsettled his balance a bit and he found himself tipping toward her, chin first. Even as ridiculous as he must have looked, he still defended his honor. Or rather, his abnormally large chin. “Oi, what is wrong with my chin?”

“Careful, dear,” was her teasing response as he drew back, “you’ll put someone’s eye out.”

Amy snorted, not even trying to pretend it wasn’t funny, the traitor. Even Rory was struggling not to at least smile. John frowned harder, huffed in frustration, and rubbed his chin.

He wished he could say something equally scathing about her chin or something, but her chin was as perfect as the rest of her. Red really was a very good color for her; it brought out her eyes. And the dress fit very nicely. And that was a very handy tool belt. And he found he couldn’t quite stay as mad at her as he wanted because her eyes sparkled with humor and that was nice.

Just then, an amplified voice from within the tent announced the imminent start of the baking competition and called all competitors to their stations.

The girl didn’t pause in brushing herself down, but sighed and muttered pragmatically, “And the bad luck continues.”

“What do you mean?” Rory asked, concerned.

“I’m meant to be competing,” she explained, “but I forgot the eggs and milk for my soufflé in the car. I was on my way to get them when your gangly friend ran right over me and now I don’t have time to get there and back and still be at my station in time to qualify.”

Oh, that was bad, John thought. And his fault. He blurted an offer without even thinking about it. “Where do you get the milk and eggs? I could run and get them for you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why would you help me?”

He blinked. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“No idea,” she responded quickly. “Never met you.”

“Well, maybe I just really like soufflé,” he retorted. “I’m here to help. Do you want me to run and get them for you or not?”

With a dramatic sigh, she finally acquiesced and gave him directions to find the car she’d come in. Finally, she handed over the keys with a wink and a dramatic proclamation of “Rescue me, Chin Boy!” “

What is it with you and the chin?” he wondered, rubbing it again.

She shooed him off toward the parking lot. “Go if you’re going. Run. And remember— “

“I know, I know. You need the refrigerated box in the boot.”

“Clever boy,” she teased, with the first real smile he had seen from her. The smile was like the sun and he was almost certain she was actually flirting with him now; he thought he might be glowing a bit like the sun himself.

The glow still hadn’t faded when he returned to the tent and entered to search for her station and deliver his load.

She didn’t look up from her work until he set the box on the counter with a soft thump, and she seemed distracted even as she thanked him with a small frown of concentration that he thought was absolutely beautiful. Then she turned her full attention to him with a grin and added, “Now, pop your shirt off. Quick as you like.”

Without thinking, he reached to do so, then paused to question “Why?”

“Does there have to be a reason?” She was _definitely_ flirting now. But she changed the subject before he could think what to reply.

“Your friends.” She made a general motion toward Amy and Rory, watching the competitors from a few feet away. “I didn’t know they were together. Could you tell them that?”

“What?” he wondered hazily, then “They’re not. Together, I mean. Not right now.”

She seemed to disagree with a snort and a knowing smirk. “That wasn’t the impression I got when I flirted with him.”

He frowned, disappointed. “With who?”

“The Nose,” she clarified, indicating Rory with a tip of her head. She grinned again, humor twinkling in her eyes. “Hah. The Nose and the Chin. You two could fence.” Then she grew serious again. “Whatever happened between them, they’re still in love.”

He looked over at his friends and saw that Amy had noticed them and maybe even realized they were discussing her and Rory and was currently stalking toward them with a scowl on her face. Behind him, the girl, foolishly unafraid of the approaching tower of fiery wrath, commented, “Doesn’t she seem a bit too angry to you for somebody who doesn’t care about him anymore?”

By then, Amy was in hearing range and promptly bit out “Well, somebody’s never been to Scotland.” Then she got within reach and started to forcibly drag him away. “Come on, Raggedy Man,” she demanded, then muttered, “I don’t like her.”

Privately, he thought that was because Soufflé Girl was right. Wisely, he kept that thought private.


End file.
